


Body Count

by Gladrial



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Arkham Asylum, F/M, Therapy, statistics are fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 07:12:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13289745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gladrial/pseuds/Gladrial
Summary: What is Harley Quinn's contributions to Gotham City?





	Body Count

Joan Leland viewed her office as an oasis amidst the insanity of Arkham Asylum, so much so that she normally held her therapy sessions there rather than in rooms designated for the tasks.  A practice most of the other doctors found foolish,  as they’d like to keep their whereabouts unknown from their patients as much as possible.  But Leland had been there long enough to know that if someone wanted to find her, they would, and it was best not to feel too secure anywhere within the asylum walls.  …For that matter, it wasn’t a bad idea to watch your back at home either.

The wood paneled walls were outdated but comforting and what ultimately made the office work for her.  It was so much softer than the world outside, with its hard concrete and cement.  The asylum once had many rooms like it, but the wood paneling was removed from them during a refurbishment intended to update the facility.  Leland had insisted her office not be touched.  There was even a time when she was offered a bigger office along with a promotion she had earned.  While grateful for the promotion, she declined the office.

On her more trying days, she could almost envision herself in a log cabin on a mountaintop, alongside a stream with the help of her desktop fountain.  She was trying to do so now, desperate to put the words of her most notorious patient behind her.  She had to admit though, after three days of trying to shake them, it seemed they were here to stay.  

Joan focused on the tasks set before her, one at a time, without too much trouble: change a prescription, schedule additional therapy sessions, modify patient routines.  Unfortunately, if she ever had a free moment to think, her mind inevitably drifted back to that which she was trying to avoid.  This was especially the case when she had gone home and was left with fewer mental diversions.  Like her office, home wasn’t the haven it used to be.

Why should the words of a noted psychotic occupy so much of her time and cause her to lose sleep anyway?  What Harley had said to her hadn’t even made sense!  But Harley rarely spoke nonsense (aside from professing Joker’s love for her) and usually chose her words carefully, though an outsider looking in would probably think otherwise.  And Leland had gotten the feeling that what she had said wasn’t something to be taken lightly.

Joan had to admit that part of her was trying to ignore her patient’s words deliberately, because she got the impression Harley really wanted her to focus on them and she didn’t want to give her the satisfaction.  Harley had a way of diverting their sessions into something she wanted instead of something she needed.  Joan blamed her understanding of the other side of things from her professional days.  Harley knew what she could and couldn’t get away with and what buttons to push.  It was bad enough that she had been a psychiatrist, but she had been a psychiatrist in this very facility!  They had similar problems with Crane.  

That was more than enough to annoy Doctor Leland, but, on top of that, Harley didn’t have the courtesy to just come out and tell her…whatever it was she was trying to tell her.  She had to treat it like a game, like so many of residents here did.  And Joan was tired of the games.  Very, very tired.  They kept getting in the way of any potential progress.  The best thing she could think to do was purposely not play along.

…But what if she should?  What if it was really important?

Joan leaned back in her pleather, cushioned chair away from the glare of her computer screen, closing her eyes as she massaged the bridge of her nose.  She had spent half the week trying not to think back to her last session with Harley and clearly that hadn’t been working.  Maybe it’d be best to just analyze her words and be done with it.

_“Honestly, Doctor, I don’t know why people have such a problem with me,” Harley commented with an exaggerated forlorn expression._

_“…You don’t think your victims should have a problem with you?” Leland asked with concern, worried that her patient’s mental state was deteriorating further._

_“Don’t be silly!” Harley giggled briefly.  “Of course they should!”_

_That was a relief, but still didn’t make any sense._

_“I’m confused,” Leland admitted. “Perhaps first you could clarify who shouldn’t have a problem with you.”_

_“Gotham!” Harley exclaimed.  “Honestly, how many of them have actually been directly affected by my ‘criminal’ activities?  In the grand scheme of things, not many.  And I give so much in return!  Honestly, it ends up skewing in their favor.  And does anyone thank me?  Nooooo.  Instead, they treat me like dirt.”_

_Unfortunately, Harley’s ‘clarification’ had only served to make Joan more confused._

_“What exactly are you giving the people of Gotham, Harley?  And, please, I’m begging you, don’t say the gift of laughter.”  Harley laughed at that, good and loud._

_“Not bad! But we both know that’s not my responsibility.  I only serve to help out in that department when needed.”_

_“Good to hear,” Joan began, though it wasn’t entirely.  However, she was excited at the prospect of Harley contributing something that was hers alone, separate from the Joker, whatever it might be.  Perhaps it could be used as an anchor to shift her away from him.  “Well then, what service do you render the citizens of Gotham?”_

_“You…You really don’t know?” Harley asked, genuinely looking upset this time.  “Isn’t it obvious?”_

_“I’m sorry, Harley, I really don’t,” Joan apologized.  “Maybe after you tell me, it will be plain as the nose on my face,” she tried, encouragingly._

_“THERAPY!” Harley shouted, beyond annoyed.  “I’m providing therapy to the one person everyone in this city is scared of the most!  Shouldn’t that count for something?!”_

_Joan instantly felt downtrodden.  Apparently, Harley’s contribution still had the Joker all over it._

_“You’re saying that you’re still providing therapy to the Joker,” Joan sighed deeply, feeling ready to throw in the towel._

_“Well, of course I am.  Honestly, Joan,” Harley spat irritably._

_“It’s Doctor Leland,” Joan instructed, knowing Harley’s slip of the tongue was her own fault.  She’d often let Harley refer to her by her first name when therapy was going well.  It wasn’t that she encouraged her to, but she didn’t correct her either.  Joan felt that it would discourage any progress made if she had.  That and, she had to admit, she always had a personal fondness for Harley…and the guilt associated with not saving her before it was too late.  However, at that moment, she wasn’t feeling too fond of her patient, nor very guilt-ridden._

_“I hate to tell you, Harley,” she continued with an edge of snarkiness. “It doesn’t seem to be working.”  She immediately felt bad about the comment, knowing it was unprofessional, but too damn tired of this game to care at the moment._

_Harley’s scowl showed that she hadn’t taken the comment very well either, shoulders aligned with her head as though she were an animal ready to strike._

_“Well, you just aren’t looking close enough then,” she practically snarled._

_“Close enough to what?” Leland asked, exasperated._

_Harley had regained her composure and proper posture, looking as though she had the upper hand._

_“To the numbers, Joan,” she answered haughtily, purposely using her first name.  “You’re not looking at the numbers.”_

That was the last thing Joan was able to get out of her.  Harley had clammed up through the rest of the session.  She had to admit, it wasn’t one of her more successful ones.

“The numbers”?  What did that even mean?  What numbers?  Joan didn’t even know where to begin with that.  The only place she could even think to start was with the first thing her training associated with numbers: statistics.  Statistics were an important part of her job, though her least favorite.  She hated feeling like the doctor nobody ever saw, who’d briefly step in and hand a slip with a prescription on it only to disappear again, leaving the rest to subordinates.  She genuinely liked therapy and having a hands-on approach with her patients, letting them know she genuinely cared about them.  Actually seeing progress taking shape.

But perhaps, this time, pouring over statistics was in the best interest of her patient.  She dreaded how boring this process was going to be as she refocused on her computer and started to pull up any data she could on the Joker, ultimately intending to compare the data before and after Harley had entered the picture.

She didn’t really expect anything to jump out at her and, initially, nothing did.  After days of analyzing piles of data, nothing stood out.  Nothing indicated dramatic changes of prescriptions in either the frequency or potency.  No pattern emerged in consideration of frequency of escapes or time spent in or out of the asylum.  The same could be said of the frequency of violence toward others within the asylum walls.  

She wasn’t too surprised really, Harley’s claim of continued therapy being wholly laughable.  Still, why make such a statement if it could be so easily refuted?  

Joan realized that all the data she had been studying had strictly been within the confines of Arkham Asylum.  She decided to give Harley one last benefit of a doubt and began looking at the statistics concerning the Joker outside the facility.

After that, it didn’t take long before she scheduled an urgent meeting with Jeremiah Arkham.

* * *

_It wasn’t supposed to go down like this_ , Jeremiah Arkham mused.  He had always partially blamed himself for Harley’s current state.  And, truly, none of this should have happened…which could be the understatement of the century.

After Dr. Quinzel’s indiscretions had come to light, he had spent a lot of time beating himself up.  It was almost too easy to do, it being clear to everyone where he went wrong in allowing so inexperienced a doctor to have free range with a dangerous psychotic.

Healing came eventually and he got to where he didn’t think about possibly the biggest mistake of his career as frequently.  But from time to time, it would return full force.  Dr. Leland’s urgent call for a meeting concerning Harley placed him in another introspective mood.

 _And it really wasn’t supposed to go down like this_ , he repeated to himself, as though acknowledging such would make it all alright.

Harleen had begged and pleaded for months for access to the Joker.  She was far from the first to have done so and he wasn’t so stupid that he didn’t understand why.  And, over the years, he had come up with a pretty good method of dealing with similar situations.

Ultimately, the solution was rather obvious.  A new doctor would insist on being given one of the more notorious patients, whether to prove something or attempt to make a name for themselves.  He’d, of course, start by explaining proper hierarchy within the asylum and the proper training and experience needed to deal with more extreme personalities.  He’d follow this up with an encouraging statement about their “grit”, “courage”, “confidence” or whatever other positive adjective he thought would appease them.  

Typically, this method worked fine, but there were those few who would not be assuaged.  He had discovered that giving them what they wanted usually cured them of this need.  A couple of sessions with a hardcore psychopath of the Gotham Rogues variety normally was enough to humble such individuals into realizing that they still had a lot to learn.  He had, unfortunately, lost a new doctor or two from the facility in this way and one was rumored to have left the profession altogether.  While that was unfortunate, better that than not having learned the lesson at all.

So when Dr. Quinzel could not be convinced otherwise and his patience was running thin, Jeremiah had decided to employ this method on her and gave her exactly what she wanted.  Even her mentor (Leland, ironically) apprehensively approved, thinking it would settle her down and better prepare her for the reality of life inside Arkham Asylum.

Two sessions tops were all it was going to take, he was sure.  And that was only if the Joker needed to use the first one to figure out how to best get under her skin.

Miraculously though, she had emerged unscathed, time and time again.  It was… _unnerving_ to say the least.  Jeremiah didn’t really think she was getting anywhere with him, but at least he was talking about something of substance.  It was probably all fabrications, but even that could be analyzed to a degree.  

More than that though, Jeremiah didn’t really have a leg to stand on as far as pulling her off the case.   He was taking his medication, participating in his therapy, and was behaving remarkably better than usual.  Was he to pull Dr. Quinzel back arbitrarily?  

He didn’t, of course, and had regretted it ever since.

So preoccupied in these thoughts, he found himself startled when a knock came at his door, having momentarily forgotten his meeting with Leland.

“Come in,” he called abruptly.

Joan entered looking slightly on edge, which refocused him instantly.  She was far too even-tempered and had too much self-control to typically display such uncertainty in her face.

“Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out,” he offered soothingly, before she could even begin.

Leland nodded softly in response but didn’t look convinced, so he continued.

“As requested from your previous email I reviewed your last session with Harleen.  I’m very concerned with the revelation that she’s deluding herself into thinking her choices are somehow beneficial to society, likewise that she believes them to be assisting her to continue therapy.  However, I wonder how much she actually believes this to be true or if it’s just an idea she’s playing with at the moment.  She can be quite fickle with her rationales, as you well know.  As such, I don’t recommend getting terribly fixated on this issue at the moment.  Let’s see if it continues to come up and then we will analyze it further.”

“I thought similarly at first,” Joan admitted. “Until I considered what she revealed at the end of the session.”

“More like what she challenged you to reveal,” Arkham warned.  “You of all people know better than to play along with your patient’s whims.  In your email you said you were looking at statistics and were having a hard time finding a correlation until last night.  Joan, if you’re looking that hard, you’re bound to find something that will fit.  It doesn’t necessarily mean it has any significance.”

“All the same, I really think you need to take a look at this,” she pushed, looking less than convinced.

“Alright, Joan,” he sighed.  “What did you find?”

“I sent you another email before I arrived.”

Arkham retrieved the message on his desktop computer and opened a file contained within, revealing a chart with two lines, one blue and one red with corresponding dates in matching colors. The latter spiked greatly and sporadically compared to fairly steady blue line.  The blue bottomed out in various places, but gradually made its way back to its steady track.  The red bottomed out from time to time as well, but darted up and down irregularly.

“What am I looking at here?” he asked, curiously.

“This chart indicates victims of the Joker over a period of time.  I only included those deaths that were confirmed or greatly suspected to be as a result of his actions.  Both compare the same amount of time.  Some of it is easier to interpret than others.  When it bottoms off, it’s almost always because he’s incarcerated.  I verified this comparing dates.”

“That’s very interesting,” he admitted, looking at the data closer.  “Look how different it is.  I wonder why.  What years did you choose to compare?  Any significance?”

“I was hoping it was just a coincidence at first,” she breathed in quiet awe.  “But the more time I compared, the more the pattern continued.”

“I’m afraid you’ve lost me, Joan,” he regarded the woman now hovering over his shoulder, staring at the screen with him.  “Just what is this chart comparing?”

“This,” she pointed at the blue line, “Is his body count before meeting Harley.  And the red…”

“Is after?!” he expounded.  “Are you serious?  Joan, you have to be absolutely sure-“

“I went over it again and again.  I didn’t sleep at all last night.”  She ran her fingers through her hair in frustration.  “I couldn’t get it out of my head.  And, like I said, I compared many different time periods just to make sure I wasn’t getting some sort of fluke.”

They both sat silently in contemplation, staring at the screen.

“But why?” Jeremiah finally spoke.  “Why would it be so different?  That doesn’t make sense.”  He sat in another brief moment of silence.  “Joan,” he finally asked.  “The death toll...has it actually gone down?”

She shrugged non-committedly.  “It’s hard to say for certain with how erratic it is.  I’d have to actually verify when she was with him and compare the dates to the chart.  But...it does appear to be a possibility.”

“But why,” he breathed.  “It’s only ever gotten worse.  So much so, we stopped really paying attention to the specific numbers.  There didn’t seem to be a point.  That’s going to stop today,” he vowed.  “Good wake-up call, Joan.”

“I honestly don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this,” she admitted.  “Should I just leave it alone?  Pretend I don’t know?”

“I’m going to tell you exactly what we’re going to do,” he declared excitedly.  “We’re going to get her to come in here and explain these dips and spikes.”

“…You’re referring to Harley?  You want to bring Harley into-,” she stopped in disbelief.  “Seeing this is only going to fuel her mindset!”

“She already knows!” he exclaimed, almost in elation.  “Why else would she have gotten you to look for it?”

“With all due respect, I’m not sure you are treating this revelation with the severity you should.”

“Joan, don’t you see?  What you were doing last night, comparing numbers, building this chart, she’s been doing it too.  Can you imagine that?  Still, plugging away at it after all this time?  We can’t possibly be doing her any harm if she already knows.  What we _can_ do is use this data to the best of our ability, but we can’t do that if we don’t understand it.  She’ll be able to explain it.  Clear your schedule after lunch.  We’re going to all meet in here again then.”

Leland opened her mouth to protest once more, but could see that it would fall on deaf ears as he wasn’t even looking at her anymore, eyes fixated on the screen once again.

* * *

Leland typically would have informed her patient in some way of any unexpected change in schedule.  She would have definitely done so herself and in person if they were expected to meet with Jeremiah himself.  But she didn’t have the heart to in this case, feeling like they’d allowed Harley to win...whatever game she was playing right now.

It wasn’t that she didn’t understand Arkham’s curiosity.  She would be lying if she said she didn’t feel it herself.  She even knew it went beyond that.  Joker was an impossible case and any information they could verify and use was priceless.

All the same, this didn’t feel right.

So instead, she showed back up at Arkham’s office without so much as a word to Harley.  Not that it had mattered.  As she was escorted in, her patient didn’t look the least bit flummoxed as to why there was such an unorthodox change in her daily routine.  Quite the opposite, she looked as though _she_ had called this meeting together and they had been waiting on her to begin.

“Jeremy!” Harley exclaimed with all the perkiness she was known for.  “Long time no see!  ‘Bout time you checked in on little ‘ol me again.”

Arkham seemed inclined to keep things as amiable as possible, so neglected to correct her break in decorum.  

“I suppose it has been awhile,” he agreed.  “How have you been feeling Harley?”

“Peachy keen, jelly bean,” she replied jovially, as the guards strapped her down in a chair next to Joan.  

“I’m glad to hear that,” Arkham continued, after dismissing the guards.  “I wanted to talk a little bit about how your therapy-“

“Let’s cut the niceties,” Harley interrupted.  “I know why I’m here.  Found something interesting, did you Joan?”

Leland didn’t see any point in disguising their intentions.  As Arkham had suggested, she already knew everything.  

“I’m actually not sure if I have or not.  We were hoping you could help us clear it up.”

“Oh, I‘m sure I can,” Harley agreed, sounding altogether pleased with herself.

Arkham unceremoniously turned his computer screen to face Harley.  

“Can you help explain this?” he asked.

Harley leaned forward as much as her restraints would allow and examined the screen.  

“Well,” she began after a few moments, “First I’d suggest you be a lot more specific with your questions; there’s a lot to unpack here.”  She squinted at the screen as though she’d glean more from doing so.  “You missed some,” she mumbled, mostly to herself, but then spoke up.  “Not that I’d blame you.  How could anyone know unless they were there?”

“Precisely what I’m trying to get at,” Arkham commented.  “You _were_ there.”

“Don’t I know it!” Harley chimed in.  “But of course, even I wasn’t always.”

“When weren’t you?” he asked, his fingers steepled to to his chin.  “Could you point it out on the chart?”

“Sure I could,” she sing-songed.  “But why would I want to?”

“Come now, Harley,” he implored reasonably.  “You called this to Dr. Leland’s attention to show off.  I’m allowing you to do so.  Impress me,” he enticed.

Harley smirked.  

“What’s it to me if you’re impressed?  I’ve got thumbdrives full of this garbage on several of our more notable guests.  If I was worried about what you thought of me, I’d have given ‘em to you ages ago.”

“Thumbdrives full?” he repeated.

“Watch yourself doc.  You’re startin’ to drool,” she quipped.  “Pam’s always on my case about doing something constructive while I’m with her.  Figured why not, y’know?”

“What do you want then, Harley?” Leland asked.  “Why bring this to my attention?”

“I don’t care what he thinks about me,” Harley nodded at Arkham.  “But I might care about what you think.  I’ve been usin’ all the stuff you taught me.”

“Harley, please,” Joan pleaded.  “All I’ve ever wanted is for you heal.”

Her patient gave a dejected look.  The kind that would sometimes be followed by a violent outburst, but instead Harley sighed in resignation.  For someone that seemed to have control of the room a moment ago, she looked defeated despite not having lost the upper hand.

“I’m going to need a free hand,” Harley sighed.

“One hand,” Arkham agreed and Leland released the restraints on her right arm.  

“So it’s not all one thing,” Harley began.  “This spot here for example,” she traced an inclining line with her finger and double checked the corresponding dates until it reached its crescendo.  “I was with Red during this time.  Mr. J and I had a spat.  And then this,” her finger continued to trace downward, “Is after we made up.”

“What about these?”  Arkham pointed to a few places in the chart where the line had bottomed out completely.  “He wasn’t here, but there’s no body count that we know of.”  

“Here,” Harley pointed at one.  “He wasn’t in much condition to do anything.  Took some time to patch him up.”  She examined another,  “I’m not sure about this one.  Wasn’t with him at the time, but I would imagine it was the same thing.  OOH!” She perked up.  “This one, I convinced him to give up killing for lent!  Told him it’d be more fun if he made himself wait.  The real trick was acting like I didn’t think he could do it.  He took it as a challenge.”

“The line spikes up dramatically right after,” Arkham pointed out.

“Well, of course it did!” she scoffed.  “He gave up murder for lent.  What’d ya think was going to happen after?”  She returned her focus to the screen. “This, this was a good time,” she traced a line that was close to the bottom of the chart.

”Body count is very low there,” Arkham regarded it.  “Why?”

“I remember.  It was winter.  We barely left the house.  We just...” Harley breathed with a wistful look in her eye. “Had better things to do.”

Arkham and Leland offered each other a sideways look, before he asked what they were both dying to know.

“How? How did you manage this?”

Harley looked heavenward, as though she shouldn’t have to explain something so obvious.  

“I don’t know, maybe because I _know_ him,” she offered, sarcastically.  “Why is that still so hard for people to believe?  He’s simultaneously easy to distract and easy to fixate on something, depending on his moods which, and this is going to shock both of you, I’m really good at reading.”

“Can you be more specific?” Leland encouraged.

“Well, he’s got interests beyond murder, which I’m sure is hard to for anyone else to believe.  You can encourage his attention there, not that it will last forever.  He likes attention so I give him a lot of it.  You can fixate him so that he spends more time on fewer victims rather than-“  She paused as they both gave her concerned look.

“Harley,” Leland began cautiously.  “You’re not...Please tell me you’re not encouraging him to torture people.”

“...Describe ‘encourage’,” she replied, after a beat.

“Jesus.” Leland closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

Harley rolled her eyes.  

“Second ago, you were all _so_ interested.  Now I’m the bad guy.  Would you rather he kill _more_ people?  I can arrange that.”

“This,” Jeremiah redirected.  “Is a conversation better suited for another time.  I’m sure you can work it into a future session, Doctor Leland.  Let’s get back to the matter at hand.  What else, Harley?”

“Well, there’s recognizing the most dangerous thing he can say and reacting in a timely manner,” she offered.

“And what would would that be?” Arkham asked eagerly.

“I. Am. Bored.”  She held up three fingers and ticked them off one at a time for emphasis.  “Then it’s just a matter of alleviating that boredom, because if you don’t, rest assured that he’ll find something to entertain him.”

There was a prolonged thoughtful pause as the two doctors digested everything that had been presented to them.  Arkham offered Joan a thoughtful smile.  

“You should know Harley, that your doctor was dubious about us having this conversation. She is rightfully concerned that you may have misattributed these actions as beneficial. That you are deluding yourself into believing your actions to be excusable for the ‘greater good’.  To that end I have an important question to ask you, not about this,” he turned the computer screen around for emphasis, “But about your well being.”

Joan gave him a grateful look and seemed to relax from the shock of Harley’s earlier confession.  Arkham regarded Harley with eyes full severity of what he was about to ask.  

“Are we supposed to believe that you’ve done all of this, sacrificed yourself so to speak, out of the goodness of your heart?”

She laughed at that, good and loud.  

“Oh, that’s rich doc,” she tittered, wiping away a tear.  “No.  Not at all.”

Joan released tension she was unknowingly holding in her shoulders and sighed in relief.

“I mean, it’s not like I got involved in this out of a desire to hurt people.” Harley elaborated. “But no.  Out of fear of sounding like a broken record, I love him.  I love spending time with him.  That’s hard to do when contending with the Bat or when every other action he takes could easily lead him back here.  I do what I have to to maximize our time together.” She turned to look at Joan and continued with complete sincerity.  “Allow me to assure my dear doctor that any possible positive impact of my decisions are completely incidental.”

“I see,” Arkham commented. “I think I speak for both us when I say that’s a relief to hear. As such,  what do you expect us to do with this information?  You led us to it.  Whatever your motivation, you must have known we’d try to use it to our advantage.”

“Feel free,” she shrugged nonchalantly.  “I fully encourage it… Not that you will.”

“And why’s that?” he asked curiously.

“All this data is going to tell you is that _I’m_ able to manipulate him sometimes. The only thing you can do with that is try to use me to do just that, which we both know you won’t do. And _if_ you do, I get to be with him.  I don’t see a downside here for me.  But somehow, I don’t think you’re gonna allow us to share a cell.  Unless you honestly think you can do what I do,” she offered skeptically. “He’ll see right through you.”

“You think so,” Arkham commented. “And how does he not see through you?”

She rolled her eyes again and cupped her hand over her mouth, repeating herself loudly.

“I. Know. Him. And if I were to be completely honest, he isn’t oblivious to what I do, just like I’m not when he’s pulling my strings.  A relationship requires compromise after all.  We indulge each other when we can.  He’s _not_ going to do the same for you.”

Jeremiah’s mask broke for the only time during the conversation, briefly revealing the flawed human underneath with a look of tired irritation.  

“No, I don’t suppose he would.”  His demeanor quickly returned to one of guarded compassion and control.  “Thank you for speaking with us so openly today Harley.  I may have some more questions for you in the future after further analysis of this data.”

“Always happy to help,” Harley offered cheerfully.

“If we’re done here,” Leland began.  “I’d like to walk Harley back to her cell.”  

“Of course,” Arkham agreed.  “Thank you for indulging me today.”

Harley was released from the chairs restraints and escorted into the hallway, walking side-by-side with Joan.  Two guards trailed closely behind them.

“Why so glum Joan?” Harley asked her quiet doctor.  “I gave you some gold to use in there for future sessions.”

“Not glum,” Joan corrected.  “Introspective.  Did you really do all this to impress me?”

“Maybe.  I mean, it wasn’t all that.  I was curious too, y’know.  I’m around all these people in such a different setting; it’s hard not to be.  But yeah, I thought you might be-,” Harley paused, looking introspective herself. “Believe it or not, I think about how things could have been different from time to time.  What could have been.  And I did look up to you.  Still do.  I know I never say it, but you’re really good at this.  And I do appreciate having someone to talk to that understands, as best they can.”

“Thank you Harley,” Joan smiled with watery eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a patient say -“ she stopped and held a hand to her face, breathing deeply to regain control of her emotions.  “I was impressed with you the moment you stepped foot in this building so many years ago.  All this posturing...it’s not necessary.  It never was.  I know you didn’t believe me then, but I need you to now, okay?”

Harley nodded thoughtfully.  

“Okay.”

They had arrived at her cell too soon and she was unceremoniously guided inside.  With a push of a button, the cell door separated the two of them but Joan found herself lingering, looking for some sort of closure.

“Same time tomorrow?” Harley offered helpfully.

“Of course,” she nodded.  “See you then.”

Tomorrow was another day.  Another day of sessions that could be full of regression, outbursts, attempts at violence, or any number of things.  Arkham Asylum was unpredictable that way.  But today she could say that some progress was made.


End file.
